The Machine Crusade

by Brian Herbert

  On Ix, for months his operatives and daredevil Ginaz mercenaries had been inciting the slaves to rise up and destroy the resident Omnius, just like the 'great victory on Earth.' Unable to understand human mob mentality, the Ix-Omnius did not even employ counter-propaganda to fight the more ridiculous assertions made by the commandos. The intentional manipulation of information was not a comprehensible concept to the computer evermind. Iblis could use that to his advantage.

  He cried out, "If we can retake just one Synchronized World, it means we can seize another. And another! We must not hesitate, no matter how many lives it costs!" He invoked the sacred names. "For Serena Butler and her martyred child Manion, we can do no less!"

  Caught up in the frenzy of his words, the people waved banners depicting a stylized Serena Butler and her angelic little son, like the Madonna and child. "Serena! Serena! Manion the Innocent!"

  Whenever he delivered speeches such as this, Iblis focused his thoughts inward, drawing upon his righteous anger and harnessing a visceral rage that could be used to tear the enemy into metal scrap and melt them into unrecognizable heaps. These people were his tools.

  At the most basic level, the Grand Patriarch was a salesman, with an idea that he needed to sell to the masses. To be effective on such a scale, under intense scrutiny, he had to believe in the Jihad "product" himself, so that he could make it sound convincing to others. He made himself believe.

  And he smiled. His Jipol had staged this rally perfectly, dispersing their own members into the crowd and stirring the people as needed. Soon, fresh recruits would be ready to launch themselves recklessly toward the target planet Ix, where the casualties, would be immense.

  He knew full well that these people represented cannon fodder in the Jihad, but only through their sacrifice could the conquest succeed, given enough zealots and adequate time. There would no longer be any such thing as a defeat — only victories and "moral victories."

  The Grand Patriarch noticed the statuesque, alabaster-skinned Sorceress at the front of the crowd, watching the proceedings intently, wordlessly. Tall and rigid, Zufa Cenva stood out from the vibrant multitude as if a spotlight were shining on her. As usual, her gaze fixed on him, but with a certain detached aloofness that he found disturbing. Iblis had noticed her at other Jihad rallies too. What did the chief Sorceress of Rossak want?

  Emotions masked, Zufa Cenva stood with her sisters on the grassy hillside; she had asked them to observe closely, to confirm her suspicions. The pungent perfumes of orange flowers wafted through the crowds like a drug from the jungles of Rossak. But the Sorceress's pale eyes were sharp, as alert as those of the furtive Jipol observers who were so obvious to her in the crowd.

  As she studied Iblis, Zufa imagined hypnotic waves shimmering around him. They surged from the energy core of his body and extended like tentacles to touch the audience as he spoke. The Grand Patriarch's words were always well chosen, but their cumulative effect seemed much greater than their actual content. Today he was in fine form, rousing the audience, guiding them this way and that, like a maestro. If the charismatic Iblis told them to march off a cliff, they would have done so, smiling all the way.

  At precisely the right moment, he would raise his arms and gesture with his hands. He rarely prayed or used religious words, but the effect was similar. People believed in his sincerity. Zufa didn't think it was training or practice, but something more.

  "See, he doesn't even know his own power," she said to the other Sorceresses. "He believes his talents are instinctive, nothing more."

  Magnificent.

  As the leader of the Rossak delegation, Zufa had long been intrigued by Iblis Ginjo's remarkable personal magnetism. But she and her sisters guessed something more about him, something they were keeping to themselves.

  The extrapolated breeding chart on this male was fascinating, with roots that went back to her own jungle planet. Available evidence indicated that the Grand Patriarch had innate telepathic abilities, an exceedingly rare trait in a non-female.

  Perhaps he carried the appropriate masculine bloodline she had been seeking for herself. She was not young, but given the sophisticated new Rossak fertility treatments developed by VenKee and tested by many Sorceresses, Zufa knew she could succeed in having one more child. To her, that meant trying to deliver a better daughter, one that would make her proud. Could this Grand Patriarch be the correct sperm donor?

  Though his ancestry was obviously unknown to him, Iblis Ginjo must be the distant descendant of Rossak natives, taken captive by machines long ago and moved to other worlds. If only he had undergone the intensive mental training that she and her fellow Sorceresses took for granted. Zufa Cenva would not reveal the man's true nature to him, unless she and her companions stood to gain something from it.

  Perhaps she could exert influence on him and use his abilities to her own advantage.

  Zufa was not immune to the Grand Patriarch's charms, but had always been able to fend them off with her acute awareness. It pleased her that Iblis did not seem to recognize his hypnotic knack for what it was. Over the years, many of her highly trained sisters had sacrificed themselves in telepathic annihilation strikes against cymeks. But this man was in a different situation, possessed a different potential. She suspected that Iblis Ginjo was a dangerous, duplicitous man, but saw no one more qualified to take the Jihad where it needed to go.

  For his own reasons, he did, after all, espouse the same cause as her Sorceresses: the utter annihilation of thinking machines. Iblis would, however, require the closest sort of scrutiny and would have to be handled with excruciating care.

  I believe he is the most dangerous man I have ever met.

  Thoughts become weapons. Philosophies are distinct reasons for war. Good intentions are the most destructive arsenal of all.

  —Cogitor Kwyna, City of Introspection Archives

  Beatific, proud, and confident before her loyal Seraphim in their gold-mesh caps and flowing gowns, Serena Butler finished rehearsing. With fire and drive, she must keep the Jihad burning. Niriem nodded after listening to a playback of part of her speech, indicating that she approved. But Serena doubted if her stonily loyal chief Seraph would ever express disappointment in any aspect of the great holy war, as long as machines were being destroyed.

  Now that Iblis Ginjo had departed for Poritrin, Serena intended to record a series of inspirational speeches from the City of Introspection. By nature, humans had a tendency to lose focus on long-term goals, unless they were constantly reminded of the big picture. Their determination must constantly be nurtured and massaged.

  Over the next few months, her pronouncements would be distributed among the League Worlds; VenKee Enterprises had already signed an agreement with the Jihad Council to deliver the recorded rallies free of charge via their merchant ships.

  Inside a fortified compound, Serena's attentive female guards stood on either side of her. Following the assassination attempt over a year ago, all of the fanatical Seraphim had been tested and investigated; several were then removed from service, their loyalty suspect. Niriem now served Serena more closely than ever. These women made her feel strong and protected, confident that the human spirit would ultimately triumph over cold machine brutality.

  "Machines can falter and disintegrate. Programming breaks down."

  Serena finished her lecture into the recorders. "But the human heart will never stop beating."

  In spite of the new push that Iblis had instigated with her blessing, she knew that thinking machines would not be defeated overnight. The downtrodden people on Ix had been fighting for their lives for years, and with the imminent launch of a full Army offensive, to be led by Xavier, many more of her followers would die. A necessary sacrifice, Iblis had assured her.

  She lowered her gaze and closed her eyes in benedictory contemplation. Jihad Council officers switched off the imagers and rushed to take the Priestess's new message to be played for all the recent jihadi volunteers who were about to be dispatched to
Ix. Many of them would never come home again.

  She noticed her mother standing at the doorway. "Bravo, Serena. I am certain the slave rebels of Ix will hold your words close to their bosoms, even as the assassin robots slaughter them."

  Startled by her cold attitude, Serena responded, "This struggle will not be won unless each fighter commits his full capabilities and strength, Mother. I mean to inspire them."

  Livia Butler frowned. "The Grand Patriarch has not told you everything that is happening on Ix." She gestured to the glowering Seraphim who stood nearby, said, "Leave us. I wish to speak with my daughter in private."

  "We have been ordered to protect the Priestess," said the chief Seraph, not moving.

  Serena turned to the young woman. "I need no protection from my own mother, Niriem."

  "We must also protect you from your own doubts, Priestess," the Seraph leader warned. "Your Jihad cannot suffer weakness from within."

  "Do you obey me or make up your own orders? Now go."

  Sullenly, the devoted women departed. Livia Butler had not moved, and said, "Just before leaving for Poritrin, the Grand Patriarch announced his intentions on Ix, but he has actually been plotting there for a long time, coveting the industries and manufacturing centers. You cannot imagine the slaughter he has already triggered in your name. Many, many lives have already been expended on Ix — and it is going to get much worse."

  Serena blinked her lavender eyes. "How do you know this? Iblis has made no such report to me."

  In response, Livia handed over an image pack. A broken seal bore the insignia of Jipol, marked with the highest security classification. "These clips were smuggled out by a mercenary sent in to foment turmoil. The images were compiled by a native Ixian named Handon, one of the rebels and saboteurs."

  "How did you get it?"

  "The imagepack was intended for Yorek Thurr, but was misdelivered in the League Assembly to an old representative who was once very loyal to your father. You know the bureaucracy there — it's as bad as in the fallen Empire. He thought the retired Viceroy should see it, and I think that you should also view the images, Serena. You must see what is happening out in the Jihad. The protesters have good reason for questioning the tactics in this war."

  "The protesters are cowards who do not understand the deadly purposes of the thinking machines."

  Livia pressed Serena's fingers against the image pack. "Just view this."

  Frowning to conceal her nervousness, Serena activated the system and scrolled slowly from one nightmarish scene to another. She saw mass slaughter in full color: machine extermination squads attacked humans, and families huddled underground, hiding in tunnels, while a cymek — identified as the Titan Xerxes — strode about in a warrior-form, killing any human he encountered.

  She swallowed hard and forced herself to say, "I realize this war is painful, Mother, but we must fight and we must win."

  "Yes, and you need to understand, child: Ix is a slaughterhouse — unnecessarily so. Iblis has deluded the Ixian rebels into throwing themselves at the ferocious assassin robots, with no hope of survival and no chance of making the slightest progress against the enemy. We give them a few weapons, but they are not nearly enough. Iblis has recognized the futility of the campaign for more than a year, and yet he keeps egging them on, sending them your messages."

  "My words are meant to inspire them."

  "Hundreds of thousands of fighters have died there, all in your name. They call out for you and your martyred son as if you are deities who can protect them, then hurl themselves upon the thinking machines. You were never meant to see these horrific images, but you must know how much blood is on your hands."

  Serena shot her mother a hard glance, then continued to watch the images. She absorbed the brutal fighting taking place in blood-spattered cave warrens in the industrial complexes and cities beneath the surface of the planet. Flames raged around the desperate fighters. Smashed machines and dead human bodies lay everywhere.

  "What would you have me do, Mother?" she asked at last, unable to tear her gaze away from the carnage. "Should we just surrender Ix?"

  Livia's expression melted. "No, but even if we conquer Ix by sending an army in, is it all just for another excuse to cheer? This is a poorly chosen battlefield. For such an extravagant effort and expenditure of lives, we might as well attack the machine capital on Corrin!"

  Serena was troubled. "I will have to discuss this with Iblis, when he returns from Poritrin. He will explain himself. Perhaps the Grand Patriarch has reasons we don't immediately see. I'm sure he has good justification for -"

  Livia interrupted. "He has made these decisions without you, Serena. As he often does. Are you the Priestess of the Jihad… or a mere figurehead?"

  Her mother's words stung. After a long moment Serena said, "Iblis is my advisor and mentor, and he has always been a great source of strength to me. But you are right… I should not be in the dark concerning major decisions."

  "The Grand Patriarch will nor come home for nearly two months." Livia leaned forward, pressing. "You cannot wait that long. Decide how you will act before then." The old Abbess took her daughter by the arm. "Come with me. After learning of this report herself, the Cogitor Kwyna wishes to speak with you. It is most urgent."

  Once a human female in times forgotten by history, long before the Titans overthrew the Old Empire, the great philosopher Kwyna had pondered all the thoughts and philosophies collected by the human race. After expending a millennium of effort, Kwyna taught that even common human brains could achieve a glimmer of wisdom.

  Serena and her mother climbed the steps of the stone tower that had been built to accommodate the great thinker. The tower windows were open, and cool breezes swept through the room. The Cogitor's ornate preservation canister rested on a pedestal at the center of the round room, and her chosen human attendants stood nearby, awaiting her instructions.

  Kwyna gave her excellent advice and many important questions to consider. Kwyna's philosophical conundrums had occupied Serena during her darkest times of grief and despair over the loss of her baby and the crumbling of her expected life with Xavier Harkonnen.

  Now her mother remained at the door, while Serena stepped forward to stand before the preservation canister. "You asked to speak with me, Kwyna? I anticipate much enlightenment from every conversation with you."

  Two secondaries marched forward with shaven heads and immaculately clean hands. The monks removed the canister lid and motioned for Serena to reach out. "Kwyna wishes to connect with you directly."

  Floating in its electrafluid bath, the disembodied brain was wrinkled and intricately patterned by centuries of deep thought. With a mounting sense of curiosity mixed with apprehension, Serena let her eyes fall half closed and dipped her slender fingertips into the warm preservation fluid.

  "I am here," she murmured.

  She pushed her hand deeper until she touched the rubbery contours of Kwyna's brain. As the thick fluid swirled around the Cogitor's sensitive flesh, ionic pathways connected through the pores of her skin, linking with Serena's neurons, connecting the mental passages of the distinct, but related, life forms.

  "You know the facts and the words," the wise Cogitor said in her mind. "You understand Iblis Ginjo's justifications… but do you believe them?"

  "What do you mean, Kwyna?" Serena said out loud.

  "I have avoided giving Iblis new straws of philosophy to clutch, but still he twists my words, corrupts the ancient scriptures. Instead of drawing enlightenment from my treatises, he makes up his own mind and then takes passages out of context in order to justify his decisions."

  The Cogitor's thoughts seemed to thrum with deep weariness. Serena wanted to retreat from the accusations, but respect for the Cogitor trapped her hand in the living fluid. "Kwyna, I'm sure the Grand Patriarch holds only the best interests of humanity in his heart. I will speak to him, of course, and am certain he will explain everything."

  "One who will manipulate the truth
to prove his enlightenment will do much worse. Serena Butler, are you not struck by the fact that his decisions cause martyrs to march to their deaths with your name on their lips?"

  Serena bridled. "They are fighters for the Jihad. Even if they were slaughtered to the last, they would insist it was worth the cost. And so would I."

  Behind her, Livia expressed disappointment. "Oh, Serena. Is human life so valueless to you?"

  Kwyna continued, her thoughts damning. "The Grand Patriarch incites violence by whatever means he considers necessary, because he believes that his goal validates his methods. Ix is another prize to him, but not part of any plan to win the war. He is in no hurry for the fighting to end, and knows that tragedies can be as inspirational as victories. You, Serena, may want Omnius destroyed as soon as possible, but Iblis Ginjo sees the Jihad as his source of power."

  This news was painful, almost too much to bear. Serena did not want to hear any more but was still unable to withdraw her hand.

  "I have lived and pondered for more than twenty centuries, and dispensed my knowledge to those who deserved it. Now, my conclusions are being used in a manner that I never intended. I myself feel responsible for countless unnecessary human deaths."

  Serena let her fingertips brush over the vermiform contours of the Cogitor's mind. "Those who would carry an important role must bear immense burdens. I am all too familiar with this sad fact."

  "But I did not choose the role," Kwyna retorted. "Just as you have been manipulated by Iblis, so have I. Willingly, I gave my thoughts for the betterment of humanity, but my writings have been corrupted. I now understand why some of my fellow Cogitors chose to withdraw forever from interacting with the rise and fall of civilizations. Perhaps I should have gone with Vidad and the others long ago."